


What Makes A Good Person?

by Otakumikulovinggamer4life



Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Arguing, Basically, Crying, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Self-Hatred, Suicidal Thoughts, Unhealthy Relationships, aka ouma is depressed and finally snaps, and have a very emotional argument, ouma and saihara run into each ofher at 3 am
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-04
Updated: 2018-02-04
Packaged: 2019-03-13 12:00:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13570176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Otakumikulovinggamer4life/pseuds/Otakumikulovinggamer4life
Summary: Ouma and Saihara run into each other in the kitchen, it's way past midnight and the tension finally snaps.They both have to wonder, are they good people?





	What Makes A Good Person?

**Author's Note:**

> This is so self indulgent, shoot me. I've always wanted to write a fic where Ouma just...blows up on Saihara for being so dense and yeah... Angst™

“I...I just want to know what I ever did to you…” Ouma's voice is low and filled with anger, it trembles with restraint. His dark purple eyes seem to glow in the dark kitchen, burning a hole right through Saihara. The detective just looks at him, face gnarled with irritation and confusion.

 

“What?” His voice has an edge as he narrows his eyes, the supreme ruler was nothing but trouble and lies. Saihara wanted nothing to fucking do with him and the purple haired boy didn't seem to get that message, despite everything he said and did. Even with the way he didn't even acknowledge the shorter when he entered the kitchen.

 

“I just want to know why you hate me so much.” Ouma's voice is suddenly light as he stares down at the coffee in his cup, he was pulling an all nighter as usual. He laughed, a broken grin spreading across his tired and worn out features. He really should stop while he's ahead. He was too tired and this entire night had been spent lamenting over exactly what went on during this killing game.

 

Ouma wishes he could say that the murders were haunting him tonight but for once, they weren't. It was the judgemental eyes and venom filled words of everyone around him. Had he really painted himself to be that wonderful of a villain? It was unreal. Even so, the dictator continued on, “Saihara…” the usually suffix is missing and attests to the seriousness of the moment.

 

“What exactly makes someone a good person in your eyes?” Ouma cocks his head to the side, pretending that his heart is pounding and shattering all at once. A growl is his response,

 

“What the hell are you talking about? It's too late for your bullshit, Ouma.” Saihara cut into him, opening the fridge and trying to ignore the other again.

 

Ouma pushes, “No, I'm being serious. I want to know. What makes someone a good person in your eyes?” His voice breaks as desperation surges through, _ “Please, tell me.”   _ He grips the handle of his drink tighter, swallowing and trying to reign in his emotions.

 

Saihara doesn't respond, simply grabbing a soda can and closing the fridge. He was so fucking heartless, he truly lacked compassion. He was only ever nice to people who kissed up to him, Ouma surmised. He supposes he does the same thing simply in a much more confusing and roundabout way. That's how things ended up like this. 

 

The smile on the purple haired boy's face twisted immeasurably, “I'm not a good person in your eyes, right? But why is that? Is it because of how you perceive my actions?” He was smiling,  _ he was so close to breaking and he needed to  _ **_stop_ ** .

 

Stop speaking, just laugh and go back to his room. But mulling over the venom Saihara spoke his name had withered away his common sense,  _ his sanity _ , so he kept speaking. “I come across as narcissistic yet self deprecating, I have self destructive tendencies, I never tell the truth and I insult others for seemingly no reason.”

 

“In your eyes I'm a monster, the worst kind of monster. Someone who doesn't understand human emotions but  _ pretends _ they do.” Ouma chuckles, hands shaking but going unseen in the dark.

 

Saihara laughs, “Look who decided not to play dumb today! I'm glad you know just how terrible you are.” Ouma flinches but he laughs,  _ there it is _ . He knows that's how Saihara thinks of him but why does it hurt so much to hear it? 

 

“You say that but you don't really know me, Saihara.” Ouma says, voice flat as that is the truth. The detective only knows the fabricated version of him, the one he puppeteers into being the perfect villain. The one everybody hated. 

 

“Anybody who spends five minutes with you can tell you're a lying sack of shit.” Saihara finally cracks, retorting. Ouma sips his coffee trying to combat the nausea slowly creeping upon him.

 

“...You're a horrible detective.” Ouma states, feeling anger rising in his soul once more. It's thrashing about and clawing up his throat, begging to be let out. Who was the dictator to deny such a primal instinct?

 

“Excuse me?” Saihara's voice is haughty, a tone he would never have the guts to use on anyone else. The black haired boy was much too desperate for their approval to do that. 

 

Ouma shrugs, “You heard me. You say it all the time, that you don't deserve your title. Is it suddenly not accurate when I say it?” He smacks a hand to his forehead, pretending to reach a conclusion, “Oh yeah! Everything is a lie when it comes from my mouth, right?”

 

Saihara doesn't say anything and it's Ouma's despair inducing pleasure to continue. “I tell you all the truth, facts, and it must be a lie because it came from me! I could say the sky is blue and you'd deny it simply because I said it! You'd bend the heavens themselves to always paint me as the bad guy!”

 

The purple haired boy points an accusatory finger, “You don't stop to think that maybe this monster has feelings because it's easier for you that way! Ganging up on something inhuman doesn't jeopardize your humanity!”

 

Saihara swats his hand away, “What are you even saying?! You never make any sense! Stop speaking in riddles and just talk to me!” 

 

“Talk to you?” Ouma repeats, voice quiet and genuinely curious.

 

“Yes, just tell me how you really feel!” Saihara yells at him, voice shaking as he balled his hands into fists, eyebrows knit together in fury. 

 

Ouma scoffs in disbelief, running a dainty hand through his already disheveled locks. “Fine… I'll tell you the truth, Saihara. You're a horrible guy so you'll just laugh but I'll give you the truth you desire so fucking much.”

 

He smiles once more though there are tears brimming, “Even though I'm a liar, narcissistic, rude, confusing and a know it all… deep down, I'm a good guy.” He laughs like he doesn't believe his own words and Saihara presses his lips into a thin line.

 

“At least, I think I am. I'm always trying to help the others but it's so hard for me to let people in so I just lie! And you! You're a detective so why can't you see through my lies?!” Ouma asks him, angry yet desperate. 

 

He realizes that his breathing is harsh and heavy, “You were the  _ one _ person I thought would be on my side! I thought you'd see I wasn't  _ truly _ a villain but you truly believe me to be so..!” A stuttered gasp fills his lungs with much needed air, a few stray tears running down his cheeks. Ouma is snapping, he's coming undone and it's too late to turn back now.

 

His entire body is trembling, he can't even tell if this is real. His heart is pounding and he is so fucking tired. Ouma shakes his head, “I don't know anymore! If the ultimate detective can't see through my facade then maybe it really is the truth… I don't know if I'm a good person, I  _ used to know _ but I don't anymore.”

 

He forces a laugh, it's strangled and pitiful. Ouma looks the detective in his eyes, “That's why I want to know what makes someone a good person in your eyes. I need to know if I am, even just a little.” His voice is nothing but anguish and desperation, “I  _ need  _ you to tell me that I'm a good person, Shuichi.” 

 

Saihara just stared at him through thick eyelashes, gaze cold as ice with the ferocity of ten daggers. “This is your chance to say this is a lie before I really think you are a bad guy for joking like this.”

 

Rage overtakes the dictator, he doesn't even think as he throws his coffee mug onto the kitchen floor and shattering it in a way that pales in comparison to his heart. “ _ Fuck you!  _ This is the truth you wanted so bad, accept it! You think I'm a bad guy but  _ I'm not _ !”

 

He takes a step forward, noticing the way Saihara inches back with the slightest indication of fear held within his features. “You need someone to pin your hatred on to sleep at night but I am sick and tired of being your scapegoat!  _ I'm _ the one who gives you everything you need to solve these trials and you aren't even  _ grateful _ !”

 

Ouma tangles his hands in his hair, breaths coming rapidly as his chest heaves, “ _ Not everything is-” _

 

“I have the smallest bit of compassion for you right now and if you go any further,  _ it will ruin it so please just  _ **_stop_ ** !” Saihara interrupts him, yelling with just as much vigor but Ouma doesn't budge an inch.

 

“Why do you get to tell me to stop?!” Ouma screams, they've completely disregarded everything else. Sure, no one else would be able to hear them in the dorms but there was no way Monokuma wasn't going to find some way to use this against them.

 

“I'm not  _ telling _ you anything!” Saihara throws his hands up in the air, heart trying to shatter his ribcage with how hard it's beating. His arms are shaking and it's not from the cold, he doesn't know how to feel.

 

“Yes, you are! You're always telling  **_everyone_ ** what to do and I don't know why you get to decide!” Ouma's hands are at his hips, his face is inches from the black haired boy's. “You decide who investigates what, what we go over during trials and what order, when I can help and when I can't!”

 

“ _ You decide when we can talk, when we can't, when you  _ **_need me_ ** _ and when I'm just a  _ **_piece of shit!_ ** ” His voice breaks but that doesn't detract from it's force, it resembles a raging storm and it's being caged within this small boy.

 

Saihara counters that but his ferocity pales in comparison, his voice doesn't hold anguish but contempt, “I decide when we talk because I already know what you're going to say every time!”

 

Ouma rolls his eyes, “You swear you know everything!” 

 

Saihara points his finger at the shorter boy, “You always do the same thing over and over again! You tell me you care about me before saying it's just a lie and threatening me!” The detective sounds exasperated.

 

“Because you won't listen to anything else! If I try to talk about anything other than  _ you _ , it gets dismissed as a lie!” Ouma responds, feeling hot tears beginning to pour down his cheeks again. He's officially broken and his mask has been grinded into dust, at this point. His broken heart was puncturing his lungs, leaving him breathless.

 

Saihara's words were strangling him, only making things worse. It hurt so bad, Ouma didn't know what to do, he wanted to scream in agony. He wanted to curse God for putting him in this position, he wanted to run, he wanted to add yet another scar to his wrists. 

 

Ouma was so fucking tired, he just wanted some rest but he couldn't get it because Saihara was always doing this. Always hurting him,  _ slowly killing him _ . The amount of times Ouma has contemplated killing himself was getting utterly ridiculous. 

 

He'd mused over valiant self sacrifice plans that would paint him as a hero, he'd thought up interesting ways to end it all so the trial would be fun and of course, he'd imagined doing it simplistically. Part of the supreme ruler wanted the others to see just how pitiful he was and how it was their fault.

 

Ouma's arms were covered in cuts, his ribs poked through his skin as he barely ate, his eyes had dark bags beneath them. He was miserable.  

 

Saihara didn't know that, though. No one did because of the wonderfully convincing smile Ouma wore and the wretchedly beautiful lies he could tell. 

 

“To be honest, Shuichi, I don't know how I feel anymore!” Ouma started laughing maniacally, doubling over and holding his sides because everything was spiraling out of control and he didn't know who he was anymore. This game had twisted him into something he was not and it couldn't be fixed.

 

Ouma had long accepted that this game was the death of him, it had killed him emotionally and there was only so much more he could take. It was all so funny, he was crying from laugh and crying because _ he didn't want to do this anymore. _

 

“Kokichi!” Saihara screamed, voice wavering as a single tear flutters down his cheek. Ouma almost feels touched. “What the hell is wrong with you, this isn't funny!” 

 

Ouma nods, “Yes, it is! When we first got here, I couldn't even look at you without my heart stopping.” He felt his legs beginning to give out and he struggled against that because if he fell to his knees, the dictator knew he would  _ beg _ to be loved and forgiven.

 

He knew he would be denied and stay in that spot all night so he fought to keep standing. “I was so fucking smitten that I didn't know what to do with myself, I wanted all your attention but now?! It's so confusing because I still look at you and my thoughts pause but..!”

 

Ouma sobbed pitifully for a few moments, unable to speak as despair swam in his eyes. “I  _ flinch _ when you look at me because I'm afraid!” He grits his teeth and speaks through them, “Afraid that you'll hurt me again! You don't think before you speak!”

 

Ouma takes a few shakey steps and grabs the detective by the front of his shirt, “ _ You  _ **_ruined_ ** _ me, Shuichi!  _ Because I want your affection yet I crave to drain the life from your eyes! _ ”  _ He takes a sharp, loud breath. 

 

He gets quiet, “I don't know what I want anymore, I'm so fucked up… You're right.” Ouma laughs as he looks into Saihara's wide, scared, confused, teary eyes. 

 

**_“I'm a terrible person.”_ **

 

Saihara pushes him away, he wants to scream that he didn't ruin  _ anything _ but he knows that isn't true. He swallows thickly. “...If that's what conclusion you've made, so be it…” 

 

Ouma just laughs brokenly before it divulges into tears, he brings his hands to his eyes and sobs into them. His wails are loud and unrestrained, “I'm so sorry…” 

 

Saihara just stares at him for a few long moments, knowing that by morning, Ouma would be back to his grinning and mischievous self. If this was all a lie, it was a damn good one… The detective felt like he was going to start crying so he turned swiftly on his heel, keeping his head held high as his lip trembled.

 

“Good night, Kokichi.” 

**Author's Note:**

> If you enoyed my steaming cup of despair, why not leave a comment?


End file.
